


The Hardest of Hearts

by sobakasu, sssnakelady



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Banter, Blow Jobs, Canon Disabled Character, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Ghost Drifting, Hermann Is Bad At Emotions, Idiots in Love, Light Bondage, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Canon, Romance, Science Husbands, Separation Anxiety, Tattoos, Top Hermann, first movie compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-30 10:14:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20095615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobakasu/pseuds/sobakasu, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sssnakelady/pseuds/sssnakelady
Summary: He is not a man who allows anyone into his mind.His walls are laid thick and unforgiving. Spiked with snide remarks and hot sneers. They are cemented in bitterness and cold knowledge. Meant to be used as weapons to protect the fragile, crippled mass of man hiding deep within the maze of his own toxic emotions.The drift is nothing he has ever experienced. Everything he has never wanted, and yet it is everything. Catching glimpses of Newton’s mind is like a too sweet candy that has trapped itself in your teeth. That no matter how hard you pick at it the sugared mass is just stuck there, boring a cavity in its place that is impossible to fill by any reasonable means.





	The Hardest of Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> This is adapted from a roleplay we did.
> 
> I do not know yet how many chapters it will be as I work through the logs, but at least a few!
> 
> I tried my best to use the German in this fic properly, but please forgive me for any errors.

* * *

The drift is nothing like he has ever experienced before in his life. He has experienced a finite amount of things but to say he hasn’t ever been curious of the potential he might have with another human individual within a space so private - so personal and yet primitive… _ pipe dreams _. Erratic thoughts on an experience he was certain he would never be part of in his lifetime because he is not what anyone would place within the mass of a Jaegar. He is not what one envisions as their partner, the person whom they can connect with on a level beyond any imaginings. 

He is not a man who allows anyone into his mind. 

His walls are laid thick and unforgiving. Spiked with snide remarks and hot sneers. They are cemented in bitterness and cold knowledge. Meant to be used as weapons to protect the fragile, crippled mass of man hiding deep within the maze of his own toxic emotions. 

The drift is nothing he has ever experienced. Everything he has never wanted, and yet it _ is _ everything. Catching glimpses of Newton’s mind is like a too sweet candy that has trapped itself in your teeth. That no matter how hard you pick at it the sugared mass is just stuck there, boring a cavity in its place that is impossible to fill by any reasonable means. Newton is a man that every man ever wants to be while likewise being so easily despised for that precise reason. 

Recklessness and passion within the guise of a tattooed, adderall-ridden imbecile who has the most amazing mind he has ever, _ ever _ had the privilege of touching. 

_ Of drifting with _. 

There is courage - determination. There is weakness and self sacrifice. A self-centered idiocy that is so _ infuriating _ that hitting him with a cane for days still couldn’t ebb the twitch beneath his fingers from the need to _ touch him _ . To drag him close, dig those fingers into those god awful tattoos. To kiss that spluttering mess of words off his mouth and _ lay claim _ to him. To every part of him. To let this simmering, burning hot whirlwind of emotion out until there is nothing left but their shaking bodies. 

He is not a man that wears his emotions outside of this carefully crafted bomb shelter of an interior. Not even after drifting with a man he has long since come to terms with loving from afar. It is an easier endeavor, to pine - to crave. To want and not have without ever needing to know what _ not having it _ feels like when things are all over. Hate and loathing are even easier. These emotions feel more comfortable on his face and in his words. 

If this means pretending things haven’t changed. If this means avoiding Newton more than before as they clean up the Shatterdome - it is because at the end of the world that is still here he is afraid of loving Newton Geiszler more than he ever was of Kaiju. 

The door to the lab slams, echoing too much in a space that feels too empty. 

The visage of Newton is stomping toward him with clear, furious purpose. 

“You _ asshole _. Why are you avoiding me? What are you, like, two?” 

He is tense in his chair, trying not to show an ounce of it on his face. Even still his motions are steady and as sure as they ever are when he continues tapping a pile of papers into some semblance of similar shape on his desk. He does not look up. He doesn’t need to see that face to know the exact expression being leveled on him. There is the mild notion of betrayal there from his avoidance. Still, without missing a beat in his bland and often times perceived uncaring tone he tries to keep things normal. 

“Is that language entirely necessary, Doctor Geiszler? It might be most astute of you to realize that the world simply does not revolve around you and that some of us have all manner of what not to attend to instead of joining the obnoxious _ party hardying _ going on. I have paperwork to assess before packing. Boards to clean and files to move.” 

He turns his head, daring a glance, knowing it is a mistake. There is a gasp from the other and then a moment of offended silence. Never for long is Newton silent. 

“Is that seriously how you’re going to play this?! Oh, well, forgive me for interrupting then, _ Doctor Gottlieb _, but some of us were hoping to actually fucking talk about things like adults instead of ignoring them!” He can tell Newton is furious, hurt, and perhaps rightly so.

“Some of us have been trying to talk to you for days now, because some of us had some fucking revelatory experiences while they were - I don’t know - fucking _ plugged into your brain _, and this third person thing is getting really fucking annoying.” Newton snaps, running a hand through his hair. 

Newton is stalking forward, balking and turning around, pacing a few steps before whirling around to face him again. There is a finger sternly pointed in his direction. 

“And another thing! You weren’t ever going to tell me! Anything! You were gonna just - just ignore it and leave.” Newton’s voice cracks, just a little, before he barrels on. 

“And who knows, you might not even have said goodbye. Then I would have to go find your sorry ass because I don’t know how to function without you there to snap at me in your stupid posh voice with your stupid huge vocabulary. Who even talks like that? And you - you’ve been avoiding me. Even when we thought we hated each other we didn’t avoid each other. Ever. So what gives, man?” It seems Newton’s anger has run out of steam, his tone becoming plaintive. 

He lifts his head then, just enough that he is quite literally looking down his nose at everything around him. It is a look he wears when he feels offended - or _ off his game _. He is calculating his words to be crafted and void of emotion but to the point of what he considers a very logical conclusion. He glances away, back down to his papers, which he notes he has held on to a bit too tightly. He makes himself set them down carefully, so carefully as to maintain control over his own fingers and not allow them to shake. He smooths the papers out. 

“It seemed a more reasonable course of action what with the world close to ending. Flights of fancy are hardly needed or appropriate during times of war.” 

Newton chokes on a disbelieving laugh. 

“In case you didn’t notice, the war’s over, dude! Other than monitoring the breach just in case, we’re done! We won! And you’re _ still _ avoiding me!” Newton’s breath is coming faster now, shallow, each word pitching higher and higher. 

Of course, it wasn’t as if his love for Newton had just come about only mere years ago. Perhaps he’s held onto the murmurs of denial far longer than that. Denying what he feels for the other is _ love _. He’d allowed himself to believe the truth behind all the emotions and reactions was a form of toxicity that isn’t far off from the excrement left behind by a rotting Kaiju. He has, of course, figured out by now that the way Newton ruffles his every feather isn’t anything as such. He then became terrified of it. Of rejection - of ridicule and laughter. Or even worse, of being allowed in, but only for just so long until Newton found someone else to be enamored with. 

Because really, what does a mathematician with a sour personality and a bowed form have to offer? 

“It was utmost difficult to avoid you when we occupied the same laboratory. You ought to know that by now what with all the times I barked at you for leaving your things on the wrong side of our space.” He knows this isn’t the point. He is just grasping for the easiest conversational pieces. 

The ones that don’t involve speaking about his emotions. 

He frowns, trying to ignore the haggling building up in his own brain. 

“And I would have said goodbye.” His voice is so quiet that he is not even sure Newton hears it. 

He does. 

Newton flinches as though he’s slapped him. 

“No, you - you don’t get to do that. That’s bullshit. Yeah, you maybe wanted to avoid me, but that’s not because of the reasons you’re making it seem like it was! It was for the same reasons I did! The - the same reason why I kept getting in your face, and your space, and making you _ look _ at me. You might have said goodbye, but you were still going to _ leave _ -” 

_ Me _. Whispers between them even if left unsaid. 

His expression twists. Annoyance and some amount of guilt mingle with the grief there. The emotion is on his face only for a short moment before it is gone again. As though it never existed - aside from an ever present tilt of irritation. 

He pushes back, snagging his cane to lean heavily on it as he shifts around. He is attempting to be as tall as he can possibly manage but he is always _ lopsided _. 

“Then what would you have me do, _ Newton _ ? You saw into my mind, you know all of the reasons why already. You have the answers you’re seeking, so why is it so bloody important that you _ hear _ them from me? I am not a man who -” He drags off, uncertain what he wants to say. 

What he wants to give away, if anything at all. 

He glances away again, all disgruntled agitation and pinched lips. 

“- a man who can just leap into the fray of whatever idea so appears in my head. I prefer the safety of my numbers. Careful calculations, because the _ math _ will never be obsolete. It can not create its own way to splinter off and leave the denominator behind.” 

His mouth thins further, frown sharp as he realizes he has basically just admitted his biggest fear of them out loud. Really, it doesn’t matter what Newton has to respond with because there is no definitive answers when it comes to people - or the relationships they make. 

“So, what? Leave me before I can leave you, is that it? That’s your grand plan?” 

Both of Newton’s hands have risen to grip at his own hair. 

“You were in my head too, asshole, you know how I - that I - that you’re not the only one fucking terrified of this, okay?!” Those hands have moved down to scrub over a face, pushing glasses askew. 

A step closer and a hand plants on the desk directly beside him, that mouth twisted in defiance against him. 

“You’re all I have left, Hermann. You, you said it yourself, math is never obsolete. You still have your - your numbers. Your handwriting of God bullshit, but we just nuked my life’s work. Not that - I mean, it’s what I wanted. It’s what we’ve been working for. I’m perfectly happy to not be dead, but I - studying the Kaiju was my work, my life. It’s all I’ve done and they’re gone. They’re gone and I’ve spent the last three days helping dismantle my home, and you’re avoiding me. I’ve got fucking _ nothing _ if you leave.” There is a pause in this tirade and then a dull flush of red along the back and sides of Newton’s neck. 

“And dude, you can’t have missed the part where I haven’t fucking touched another human being since before we met in person, man. I’ve been gone on your stupid brain since before I even saw your stupid face. There’s no way you fucking missed that. You’re too observant so don’t even pretend. From where I’m standing the only fucking integer that was trying to split off is you.” 

He blinks slowly, not missing the way Newton had given half that speech to his desk. 

“You are beginning to make me question if it is truly _ us _ we are even discussing anymore.” 

He pushes away from his desk, relying a little too heavily on his cane. Not because his leg hurts that much, but because the rest of him does. In a way that isn’t physical. 

He is tired. 

Without a moment to call is own in so very, very long he has no idea what to do with himself. 

“You act as though you won’t have any sort of future. We both know you will write books and you will continue to _ create _ science. There is not a single thing that you have ever let hold you back.” 

Even if there were never Kaiju again Newton would find some way to astound the world. He believes this wholeheartedly. Where as he will have, well, just as Newton says. He will have his numbers, but for the first time they don’t feel like all that much anymore. 

“I would… prefer to not be one of those things.” 

He refuses to be something that holds Newton back from anything. Despite all their aggressive rebuttals and supposed disbelief in one another’s work. It was never that he didn’t believe in the other, but that he simply knew Newton worked best under pressure. When there was something to prove. As he did himself. 

“Your grand assumption that I would _ leave _ falls short. You seem to be failing to realize that I, too, haven’t much anywhere else to go. That I, _ too _ , have spent my life working to fight the same exact enemy you have. We are _ both _ watching everything we have created being torn away.” 

On top of all that, trying to work out _ this _ \- whatever they were - he didn’t know how to handle it. 

Newton’s response is to _ push _, crowding him in toward the desk, those hands flashing out to grab onto the front of his coat. There is an odd rasp to the other’s voice and the most intent look he has ever seen in those eyes. 

“Maybe it was less an assumption and more that I’m fucking terrified of you leaving me, you pompous asshole.” 

He can feel Newton’s hands are shaking now. 

“And you’ve never held me back, you stupid genius. You’re the reason I’ve made it as far as I have. There’s no way I could’ve without you. You have to know that.” 

He has a rebuttal in place. To insist how not a single spark of Newton’s vivacity, his creative genius has anything at all to do with him. Those words do not make their way off his tongue as Newton hisses “_ Aw, fuck it _ “ under his breath and smashes their mouths together. 

He drops his cane. 

It slides completely from his loose fingers and for a long minute he has no idea what to do with his hands. If he should thread them through Newton’s hair, or touch his face, or hold onto his shoulders. Or maybe push him away? He attempts all of them at once, by mistake, looking as though he is frantically waving about. One action finally takes root, beneath the warm pressure of the other’s mouth, and he is grabbing Newton’s face - pulling him in and further crushing their mouths together. A ferocity is there that he has only ever known around this fool headed man. 

Newton makes a drastic sound, but he doesn’t know what emotion to place to it. There are hands sliding under his coat, around his torso, and Newton clings to him as they kiss. His fingers are practically digging into the other’s face. When he pulls back he has to take a deep breath. He is not so skilled at kissing that he has ever learned to perfect that task of breathing through his nose while doing so. 

“You - you realize.. The likelihood of two men of our stations actually managing a -” 

He is trying to talk them both out of this, but he is staring down at Newton’s face. At his eyes, and the red-rimmed one that mirrors his own. 

“Oh, _ das ist mir verdammt! _” 

He jerks a hand around, cups the back of Newton’s neck, just high enough to feel the short strands of hair beneath his fingers. His other is still on that face, keeping Newton locked there between hands and mouth, his teeth worrying at that lower lip. Newton makes a high pitched whimper then as if he’s losing his mind. If they are going to do this - if he is to have no choice between Newton’s insistence and his own building emotions - well, then he will just have to show Newton what he is worth. That he is someone worth everything and pray he will not regret this later. 

He has to shuffle a few steps backwards, enough to lean against the desk again. He is pulling Newton along with him, somehow managing to not break the kiss as he goes. They slot reasonably against one another and he adjusts his leg so he can anchor himself there. So Newton can lean easily into him. When he deepens the kiss there is an air of confidence in him that he at least is adept in this much. He isn’t without any experience. 

He has had a few girlfriends in his time, but nothing he would call passionate. Nothing that has sparked his infinite interest or curdled the blood in his veins like this insufferable man can. So at least he knows, relatively, what he is doing. And what that is - is kissing Newton an inch past his own life. It feels very well overdue, now that it is happening. 

“_ Scheiße _.” Seems to be Newton’s response, along with a hand rather firmly latching onto his buttocks. 

Again, annoyingly, he has to pull back to catch his breath. His hands are still firmly holding Newton in place and he is muttering things under his breath in German like - _ damn you _ and _ you fool _. There is a tone to his words that make them sound more like endearments instead of insults. He is staring back at Newton now, unable to mask all of his innermost feelings. Desire is there, longing too. Of all the foolhardy decisions he has ever made he would have fallen in love with one of the biggest fools of them all. 

Newton is panting in the space between them, a grin so wide on his face he looks almost insane. There is a kiss to his nose and he goes briefly cross-eyed, staring down in offense. 

“So, I think I might actually die if I don’t get to touch your dick at some point in the very near future.” Newton’s voice has gone raspy and there is a distinct dilation to his eyes. 

He is reaching between them to idly wipe the transgression of a wet kiss from his nose but he is caught off guard and his face lights up in a dark blush. A scowl spreads across his features in his utter embarrassment. 

“Is such vulgar point of address necessary?” 

It’s not that the notion doesn’t toss itself straight down to his aforementioned … extremities. He isn’t _ against _ the idea. As a matter of fact he’s had many an inappropriate fantasy about just such explicit behaviors - but he assuredly was not the sort to brazenly just announce it. 

The grin that slides across Newton’s face is nothing by sly and eager, coupled with a snort of laughter. There is a generous grab to one of his _ lower _ cheeks. 

“Really? Is that your version of dirty talk, Hermann? Cause it could use some work, I think.” 

He is trying to ignore that hand, still bothering at him, but that smile is curling in his stomach and setting it to all manners of fluttering. 

“I’m afraid you will be gravely disappointed to find that I do not participate in such nuances.” 

Newton leans up for a kiss and that he finds he can’t ignore. He plants a hand behind him on the desk, trying to keep some semblance of upright and comfortable. He is going to let the other dig into Newton’s hair, however, using it to pull him close. He is wholly satisfied when this brings another low, punched out sort of sound. The kiss now feels less manic, instead heated and exploratory. 

He is a man that is all about calculations. Knowing the math and the facts as well behind any given situation. So when he shifts his wrist to pull a little harder on Newton’s hair that startled sound the other makes is precisely to those calculations. He has forced Newton’s head back, opening that mouth for an accessible position, telling himself this too is a _ science _. Where he is logging information into little compartments in his brain to be tested and scrutinized over. What levels of enjoyment can he suss out? 

Newton is _ melting _ against him and _ ah, that is how it is then? _He knows he can work with this, quite easily. A curl of warm, purposeful intent settles in him. He slides a little on the desk, the hard pressure of it beneath him not the most comfortable of positions. Without something directly against his spine his back aches a little, but he is doggedly attentive to the kiss. 

When he pulls away again his voice, this time, is equally breathless and there is an unchecked arousal in his eyes. 

“I.. I do believe this is hardly the place for such salacious activities.” 

He is attempting to just say they should move. To either of their bunks would be the smartest course of action, as anyone could find them here. That is not something he wants to bother with at this precise moment. 

Newton is blinking up at him, dazed and licking his lips. 

“Right, ah - right. So. Uh. Your place or mine? Also, right now probably isn’t the best time to mention the many repeat performances of your desk in my wank fantasies, right?” 

He can feel his face heating up again and he pinches at the bridge of his nose with two fingers to try and mask it. As though Newton is causing him some kind of severe mental strain with his behavior.

“I fear the absolute chaos that is your bunk. With your scattered _ toys _ and decaying parts. I can practically smell the foul odor from here.” 

He shakes his head, pulling himself from beneath the other and hobbling forward to pluck his cane up from the floor. Honestly, his own room is just closer and he would rather pass one hall to get to it than three. His current issue isn’t entirely hidden, even while his slacks are loose. A quick, sharp, and jerked glance down tells him Newton isn’t exactly being awarded any luxury in this department either. That’s what he gets for wearing trousers that are obviously too small for him. 

Newton at least doesn’t seem offended by his choice. 

“Yeah, your place is closer. Lead the way, my man.” 

He starts to move forward, telling himself that his pace is normal as it always is. That he is not walking any faster than usual. Not at all. 

The walk is at least short, but not enough that he hasn’t talked himself into and out of this all the way on. He’s working himself into a silent frenzy of uncertainties and hopeful wants. When he steps in behind Newton, closing the door, it takes no more than half a second before he is crowding Newton against the nearest wall. He plants a hand beside the other’s face, takes to kissing him with no lesser amount of passion than before. It is inevitable, isn’t it? That they would eventually end up in bed together, so why should he fight it? Newton’s hands are on his jacket again, wringing him in closer by it. 

They kiss for a long while, only breaking away to breathe and at one point to toss his cane aside. He is cracking with each one, becoming more desperate for everything he can get. Newton is holding onto his belt now, toying with it as though he isn’t sure yet what to do about it. On instinct he rolls his hips. He knows how to go about sex, and while he’s never actively engaged in such with a man before - he does know all the details. Curiosity is a vicious beast some midnight hours when sleep seems impossible what for all the matters of nonsense that spin through one's brain. 

Newton has taken to fumbling with his belt now, a triumphant little noise breaking between them when he manages to unbuckle it. He loses all control of the kiss when Newton starts messing around in that vicinity with his hands. He has to properly hold his weight against the wall with an arm when his legs go a little weak. Their bodies press closer with this movement and he rests his chin on Newton’s temple, cursing under his breath. His hips buck now, desperate for the contact. He hasn’t engaged in such activities in years now. 

Those hands change their course as rapidly as they’ve started, sliding back to grab steadily onto his rear, easing some of the discomfort of relying on his legs fully for balance. They have slotted together quite nicely at the front of things and he can feel the clear line of Newton’s erection through their slacks. He shudders. It is the sort that crawls along ones spine, demanding to be noticed. His own pants have begun to feel restrictive. He is hissing out curses again, endearments, all in German as though he has forgotten what English even is for the moment. 

He slides forward, mouth to an ear, and let’s the urge buzzing in his brain take hold as he bites down on it. Newton shouts. It is matched with sudden erratic, jerky motions. He shifts, drawing back enough so Newton must look at his face, must witness the calculating glance there and the slow, knowing smirk that accompanies it. The sort of expression he gets when he has something to hold over the other’s head for days and subsequently irritate the living daylights out of him.

“Ah, is that so?” He murmurs in English now, as if his clarity has returned to him now that he has a mission. 

That mission is to tear Newton apart from the ground up - slow, purposeful.

“Don’t say a fucking word. It’s been a really fucking long time, okay.” 

He doesn’t. 

Instead he bites down on the flesh of the other’s neck, just on the side, hard enough to leave a mark behind. Newton _ wails _ and curses at him sharply in returned German, scrambling to get a grip on himself. He bites again, overlapping the first, knowing how it will be extra sensitive this time. Unsatisfied with simply that he sets to sucking a bruise there as well. Just above where a tattoo starts. Just above the collar line, right where anyone can see. 

His hand is holding Newton’s face in a vice grip, refusing to allow the other any leeway. Newton has been reduced to nothing more than a whimpering, whining mess. He breaks away, teases at the scant space between them with his mouth and Newton makes demands. 

“Yes, yes, c’mon, _ küss mich, bitte _.” 

So kiss him he does, holding nothing back. 

There is no reason to fight this forward momentum. He is aching for it just as surely as Newton is, impossibly uncomfortable in his slacks. It is a rueful thing he must ever break to catch his breath, and he takes the state of the wreck he is making the other. Newton tugs mindlessly at his shirt, trying to nudge him backwards. 

“Oh, _ mein gott _, why are we not - bed, naked, just - c’mon.” 

He feels himself swallow a rather impalpable knot in his throat. He is carefully sidling backward, attempting with all his might to _ not _ limp for just two seconds. It doesn’t work expressly well, but he does manage to get out of the way so Newton can drag him toward the bed. He is attempting to push down his nerves, not even sure why they are there when he knows all the proper methods and precautions. 

He has never done this, and everything between them is new, brilliant, blinding. 

Still, he rolls his shoulders in that manner he has when he is preparing to give something his all, managing only a half limp toward the bed. Newton immediately has both hands in his hair, ruffles it. 

“Why do you wear so many layers, man?” Newton huffs, back to fumbling with his slacks. 

His nerves are re-routed into a spur of indignation. Newton constantly complains about his manner of clothing, but at least they _ fit _ him. In body and by his rule book personality. He clears his throat in a defensive manner and moves to shrug out of his jacket. Carefully he folds it and puts it aside on a desk. 

“I have _ told _ you time and time again that I run _ colder _ than most. As well, suit shirts simply look better with something actually over them instead of rolled up and half open.” His eyebrow arches, a direct stare at Newton’s haphazard shirt situation. 

“I know, I know, it’s just not very conducive to sex, that’s all. And hey, after you’ve destroyed like six shirts because you got Kaiju acid all over the sleeves then you can judge me. It’s easier to work like this.” Newton’s tone at least sounds fond instead of patronizing. 

“I hardly wake up and decide my wardrobe based on how appropriate it is for carnal exploits.” He rolls his eyes high and adds a pointed shake of his head. 

He doesn’t dislike the way Newton looks. It is very _ him _. 

“Well, hopefully I can change that. A little. But fuck, you were in my brain. You already know your sweater vests get me hot, you stuffy old genius.” Newton isn’t lying, he does know this now. 

Newton is making a distinct sound of satisfaction as he works open his pants, cupping him through his underpants. 

“You know, I’ve never seen the appeal of giving a blowjob before now - other than, hey, reciprocation! But I’m kind of seeing it now - the idea of getting my mouth on your dick is insanely hot.” 

There is a noise building in the back of his throat that he isn’t fully aware of. Something both dismayed and broken in a way that suggests he is really, _ really _ thinking about that. He shakes his head, somehow managing to pull a little of himself back together and shifts abruptly to sit on the bed. 

“I don’t believe that is of necessity.” It is a polite way to say he won’t _ ask _ for such a thing for it seems vulgar and rude to do so.

“Hermann, first rule of sex-” Newton settles down on his knees in front of the bed, resting those hands on his thighs. 

“-you never say no to a blow job.” 

There is a grin from the other and a kiss. 

“We don’t hafta do that right now, but it is gonna happen. So better start getting used to the idea. I’m going to totally blow your mind.” It is a very confident promise. 

His face is a brilliant red, his mouth open and ready to throw out his rebuttal. 

“All I pointed out was that it was not a _ necessity _.” 

In which he means he can survive without it. Of course, if Newton is going to be _ adamant _ about it - well, maybe. Maybe it isn’t the worst idea to ever lodge itself in their brains. 

“Nothing fun in sex is a _ necessity _, it’s sex. It’s messy and kinda gross but fucking worth it, man. And if I say I wanna put my mouth on your dick, then you just say ‘thank you, Newton, that would be smashing’ or something else posh and ridiculously adorable - fuck.” Newton has interrupted himself from his rambling now by tugging down his underpants. 

  


He is busy rolling his eyes to the ceiling, letting out a mock sigh, but at the continued silence he looks down. This is no time to feel self conscious. No woman has ever complained before, usually the opposite course. This hardly means much in retrospect however. What women want doesn’t matter much in the current situation. Instead he tries to attempt a moment of compassion, reaching forward to hook long fingers beneath Newton’s chin. He lifts the other’s face up to look at him and his own lips soften into a smile. 

“Really, it isn’t a necessity.” He just wants Newton to enjoy himself. 

For the first time at whatever it is they are doing he wants this to be perfect, and perfect he will make it, damnit. 

The expression that meets him when Newton’s eyes clear is entirely stubborn. 

“I want to, though.” That voice is soft, but seemingly sure. 

“Then I will hardly stop you, but know you can take your time - or stop if you wish to.” 

He wants to do nothing that Newton will not expressly enjoy. Newton puts a hand on him then and he can only close his eyes, breathing hitched. There is hesitation between the both of them as Newton leans in, anticipation coiling hot in the pit of his stomach. The first touch of a wet tongue makes him jolt, his body attempting to handle the bombardment of sensation. 

Newton works his mouth around him and he can do no more than give in, his chest rising and falling in quick, near silent gasps. He is holding himself upright by his arms, letting his head loll back. His mouth falls open and silence rapidly becomes sharp sounds of pleasure. It has been a long time, even longer for this particular aspect of intercourse. He can, somewhat begrudgingly, count the number of times he has experienced oral stimulation in his life on one hand. 

“That it, Newton. Yes, like that.” The words are a low hiss of encouragement. 

He isn’t looking, but does he really need to? He is able to feel each movement and the heady sense of euphoria it brings. He lifts a hand, curls fingers over the back of Newton’s neck, idly rubbing there in support. 

He has to give up on sitting, instead lies back on the bed and brings his arm to splay over his eyes. He is mumbling, biting at his lower lip to try and stem his noises. 

“Lord…” It is more curse than praise and he bites next at his thumb, face twisting in pleasure as Newton moves. 

It starts again, that muttering in German. Harsh, bit off slurs that he blends with calculations, as though he can’t help himself. He is turning Newton’s motions into math, desperately trying not to jerk his hips up or shove the other down. It isn’t the best blowjob he has ever had in his life, certainly. There is too much teeth and not so much finesse, but it is still the power of _ who _. That is what truly matters. 

There is a gasp of words that sounds something like _ you filthy, beautiful boy _ but he will deny their existence entirely. His legs are shaking, the effort to not orgasm a difficult one. His fingers twitch, convulsive, and then shoot out to drag Newton off him by his neck. There is a flush to his own cheeks and a frenzied glow to his eyes. 

“No, no you don’t. That is not my choice method of ejaculation this evening. I’m going to - going to.. _ Fuck _ you to an inch or your sanity first.” These words are said on a growl, intense in emotion as he gives into what he knows Newton needs to hear so badly. 

“Fucking hell, _ yes _.” Newton manages around a gasp, scrambling up to him for a most relentless kiss. 

He drags Newton in, shifting to pin him down against the bed with his weight. He is pressing his bum leg between them because it is easier to rub against Newton there than hold himself up by it. He’s pushing a hand down between them, attempting to work Newton’s pants open. He wants his hands all over him, all over those ridiculous tattoos of monsters long gone. 

He moves to straddle the other, stretching upwards, his fingers working quickly and efficiently to undo buttons. He is pushing the shirt away, getting at the one beneath to pull it unceremoniously over Newton’s head to toss it all aside. He has always known Newton is not as wire-framed as many like to believe. Those arms have reasonable amounts of muscle from carrying quite a bit of weight at times. Quite perfect for sinking nails and teeth into. He hurries too with his own set of shirts, finding his patience waning. 

Newton then does the unacceptable. Hands find his skin the second it is revealed and_ pinch _ at his sides. It is a horrendous bit of fact that he is quite ticklish and he squirms, making a disgruntled sound. He snatches Newton’s wrists, jerking them upward and pinning them to the bed, leaning down until their noses are only just touching. 

“None of that while I am attempting to seduce you.” 

His grip tightens, nearly painful, and he is telling Newton without words that he will not stand for that. There is an _ abashed _ look to the other’s face - and _ good _. There will be no tomfoolery on the horizon. Or so he can hope. Slowly he lets go, trailing fingers along the tattoos on Newton’s arms. 

“You’ve never seen them all, have you?” 

“Newton, you know the answer to that.” 

No, he never has. 

There has never been an opportunity and he has never expressed a desire to see them. He often pretends the opposite, that they are nothing more than impractical _ groupie _ nonsense. This isn’t actually how he feels. He shifts back, hands continuing their course - over Newton’s chest, along his stomach. He hooks his fingers into the other’s pants and gently works them down those hips. 

“Will you add the rest? Will you add _ her _?” 

_ The baby _. 

The reason they are even here, like this, now. She’d been a monster, no doubting, but she had still given them something immeasurable. His hand slides along the uninked portion of a thigh as it’s freed, along the inside, rubbing a thumb in lazy circles. 

“She’d look beautiful here.” 

He can hear Newton’s breath catch. 

“Yea.” It is a rasp, mesmerized almost in it’s tone. 

“Yea, god, yea. Come with me. When I get her done, please.” 

He looks up, something hot - needy, possessive in his eyes and he responds with absolution. “Yes.”

Yes, he will go. He’ll likely feel sick watching, but he will go. Just to see her come to life again on Newton’s skin. To stay there, memorialized for them to always remember. And to selfishly know a part of himself will always be there, for whenever Newton sees her he will remember the connection they’d made that day. 

“Yes, I think I will.” He whispers and Newton’s eyes are glassy, like he is trying not to cry. 

He returns his attention to removing Newton of his trousers. His eyes are half-lidded, and he finally gets his first real look at all that Newton is - his face shows nothing but raw need. 

“I made a boast, before - that I do not think I can see through completely.” He works his jaw, forces one hand to stay planted on Newton’s hip. “As desperate as I feel my desire is, I want to take my time. Will that be manageable for you?” 

“Man, at this point, you can do whatever you want to me, but I can’t guarantee I’ll last through it.” 

There is a glint in his eyes then, so very sure of himself. 

“Then we will just have to see how many times I can bring you to release tonight.” And he kisses Newton soundly with that, dirty about it, and pulls away mere seconds later to leave the other reeling. 

He pushes himself carefully off the bed after, moving to the side of his small, shoddy night stand he has kept since Cambridge. There is a minute of shuffling, pushing things aside, but he comes back with a small bottle of lubricant, popping the cap. He has a smug, cocky slant to his mouth. One that tells Newton he is in all manners of trouble because he has found another way to drive the other mad. Newton swallows again in what can only be anticipated nervousness and it is glorious to watch. 

Again he straddles Newton’s thighs, letting his hands venture down, tracing over sensitive junctures, and teasing with feather light caresses. Newton still has his hands perfectly where he’d left them, and the way they twitch at the knuckles speaks volumes even before that voice cuts in. 

“You gotta let me touch you too, come on.” There is most assuredly a whine to it. 

“Does it drive you mad, Newton? The desire to just _ take _ what you want of me but with no allowance to? Now, I’ve waited years for this precise moment.” His eyes narrow, a smirk curling on his lips. 

He is sliding off the bed again, only long enough to snag something from the floor before returning his weight to Newton’s knees. 

“I won’t have you muddling it up with your incessant need to get your own way all the time.” His fingers slide along the length of Newton’s tie, slow and deliberate, perfectly in sight. 

“Hands, please. Wrists together, if you will.” 

Newton _ gapes _ and his own grin splits so wide it is unlike any look he has ever awarded the other with. Newton is also quick to comply with this request, not even a peep on it from him. He sets to tying those wrists together, tight enough to not be wriggled or wrangled out of easily. When he is done he kisses each palm. 

“I fully intend to rattle your bones, Doctor Geiszler.” Moving on from the palm he kisses each finger tip in turn. 

“I have made you wait, but it would be far uncharacteristic of me to not make you wait just a little longer. I will make it worth it, _ darling _, just you watch. You won’t remember which way is up when I am through with you.” He is both confident and snide in his commentary, and he releases Newton’s hands to allow them to settle back over his head. 

“You are going to kill me with how sexy you are being right now.” There is an impatient wiggle from the other and he leans in to sink another bite into that perfect neck, relishing in the cry Newton lets go. 

He isn’t a liar. He draws it out, takes his fill of touching and tasting - biting from neck to thigh and purposely skirting all the important areas. When he finally, _ finally _ starts working Newton open with his fingers he is murmuring encouragement against a hip. He is doing precisely as promised, breaking the other down so slowly, making an absolute _ mess _ of him.

Every thought of this pace falls from his mind when they are finally connected in body. When he slips himself inside and everything else drops away. Disappears as if nothing else has ever mattered. It is too much, there is something else pulling at them, shaking them apart. Sex has _ never _ felt like this and there are whispers in his mind, his own heart beat far too loud in his head. Or is it even his own at all? It is too frantic and he’s realizing in a daze that it is the rapid fire beat of Newton’s in his ears. 

There is emotion, but it is like a tangible thing. There is a burning, a need, a desperate love that they have for one another. It feels like drifting - maybe it is. Lingering effects, perhaps, and he selfishly wishes it will never stop. Is that his own wish? His own feeling? He can no longer tell. He thinks he babbles in German, all endearments, but he is unsure if it is his voice or Newton’s. Everything has mixed, combined until they are no longer two separate people. 

  


He is shaking, unable to find his control, his center, and he presses his face to Newton’s chest - right into the center of Belobog. He catches a thin thought, through the _ drift _ , a need to _ touch _ before the other completely fractures apart. He reaches up with what little semblance of function he has and undoes the tie, attempts to rub circulation back into those wrists. Fingers wriggle and then bury in his hair. They are both trembling, caught in the afterglow of so many things. He is kissing at Newton’s face, gasping out professions of love, trust, even unabashed awe against his skin. 

The drift lingers, a strange staccato of their thoughts bouncing and melding and spinning around one another like atoms. A dozen questions, but also - are they boyfriends, friends, lovers, more? He is smiling, the action hidden entirely against Newton’s neck. 

“Yes, you insufferable buffoon. I do believe this would make us lovers. So long as you’ll have me.” And he means it, entirely. 

As long as Newton will have him by his side, he absolutely wants to stay here. Without a second of a doubt now. He pulls back to finally look at the other, the drift seeming to ebb, and is met with the most brilliant of love struck smiles. 

“I have the best fucking boyfriend on the motherfucking planet.” Newton announces and promptly wraps himself - all arms and legs - around him. 

He sighs. “Is that language really necessary at this _ exact _ moment?” 

“You’re never getting rid of me now. You know that, right? I’m not going anywhere.” 

What is he to do, really? Other that accept these ridiculous aspects that he has come to adore over time? Newton loosens his hold, alters their positions, and he feels the aches settling in. He will find the pain regrettable in the morning, but never the actions. 

An impossible softness overtakes his expression. 

“It is my sincerest hope, Newton.” 

A finger traces over his mouth, that smile leveled back on him turning decidedly sleepy. 

“It never ceases to amaze me how fucking adorable you are.” 

The sentiment is returned with an abrupt pillow to the offenders face. 


End file.
